Pit Stop
by SlySnootles
Summary: Soon after escaping Nevarro with the Child, the Mandalorian Din Djarin has to get used to harboring an alien toddler. Set between Chapters 3 and 4.


After a week of getting the child as far from Nevarro as possible, the _Razor Crest_ was running low on fuel, food reserves, and water; even the air had become so recycled it tasted stale.

Djarin hadn't planned for a runaway mission with a rescuee. He only ever had to stock his ship for himself. Even his bounties didn't need much care now that carbonite freezing had become the new thing. (Was it wrong to want to thank the late Darth Vader for that idea? Probably.) He'd wanted to stay in transit, alternating between space travel and hyperspace travel, for at least a couple weeks, but it looked as though he'd have to locate an obscure planet or moon on which to make an emergency landing.

So far the first planet sufficiently out of the way and lacking any population density wasn't technically a planet, as it was too small to meet the requirements set by the New Republic registrars. The dwarf planet didn't even have a proper name, just the designation 0-1029-86. It was as good as things were going to get until he could find some work.

Djarin emptied the vac tank — which had really needed to be vacuum'd for a couple days, but he'd been trying to conserve water and energy as much as possible — then set the coordinates and jumped the ship into hyperspace. As soon as the ship adjusted to the jump, he put it on autopilot and turned the pilot's chair to check in on the bundled little one, sleeping without complaint in the old food storage container he had repurposed to serve as its makeshift cradle.

As he looked over the child's face, he ran through his to-do list of activities for 0-1029-86. Water was the most important thing right now, after fuel. And that would take some time to extract from the atmosphere and purify.

Djarin was used to constantly being on the move, to scraping by; grinding and sacrificing for others. As a Mandalorian, he'd always helped his covert, especially the foundlings, by contributing to them a portion of all his bounties. But he'd never been personally accountable for someone like this; definitely not such a young creature. (He didn't know the details of his own species' childhood development, much less the lifecycle of an unknown non-human.) Yet he was the child's only support now. And it always needed nourishment, attention, space to move, and items to play with and inspect. The list grew as the child expressed more of its wants and needs. It had become a full-time responsibility and he hadn't expected that.

One issue needed to be addressed immediately. The child had begun to acquire a musty odor, and the smell had gotten worse over the last few days, turning even more cloying and pungent. No doubt all the wrinkles in that spongy green skin trapped a good amount of particles and moisture.

Food was also an issue. He didn't know something so small needed so much sustenance.

Miraculously, it only excreted once every day, or sometimes every day and a half. So far holding the child over the vac tube was the best option, if an awkward one, then rinsing it over the tube with a smattering of water. Djarin used his resources springly, but it still added up.

There hadn't been time, a week ago, to consider these common issues; only time for strategizing how best to retake the youngling from the Imperials. Every second of thought had been devoted to _get the child out of here_ and _get as far away as possible._

By the time they came out of hyperspace, and he had landed the ship, the child had woken. Perhaps it was the sudden ceasing of most of the ship's functions, or the slight shifts that always occurred with atmospheric and gravitational changes. As the youngling sat up, it blinked it giant eyes.

Bad time to finish its nap. Djarin had to check the area and bring out the portable vaporators, in order to make enough water for at least another week or two. He didn't have time now to watch or amuse the kid.

"Here," he said. He held out the metal ball previously screwed off the console's control stick. For some reason, it remained the child's favorite toy. As soon as the ball was in hand, the child popped it into his mouth.

"_No_!" Djarin grabbed the ball before it disappeared entirely and held it back out of reach. "Look, I _don't_ have time to monitor you. Either keep this out of your mouth, or I'm taking it with me. Got it?"

After a few blinks and ear twitches, the child reached out again. Cautiously, Djarin returned the metal ball. This time, the kid held it in both hands, turning it around, but didn't try to suck or chew on it.

"All right." Djarin relaxed. And hoped the ball wouldn't be swallowed as soon as he stepped out of sight. He still didn't know if the youngling understood the words he said, or if it was his voice or gestures that conveyed what he wanted. Maybe it was a combination. But he had a decent success rate when it came to communication so far.

After one last check to make sure his little bundle of joy was secure in the substitute bed, and that the ship controls were asleep and no stray tools had been left out, Djarin shouldered his rifle and climbed down to the cargo hold. His first stop was to the _Crest's_ small weapons locker. He hung a few extra guns on his belt.

_Gotta be quick_, he thought as he lowered the ramp and headed outside. _Don't want to leave that little goblin alone for too long._

The _Razor Crest_ had landed on the dayside of the planet, so there was light left for several hours. The tall trees and other foliage provided decent shade from the hot sun, too. This region of 0-1029-86 was semi-tropical, which suited their needs perfectly. The vaporators would be able to extract moisture from the air more effectively than they would on a burnt-out planet like Nevarro.

Usually, he just bought water from a spaceport vendor when he didn't have time to gather it, but now he didn't have that luxury. He wanted to lay low. And every credit had to be saved-fuel alone burned through most of his finances.

The dense trees and vegetation no doubt hosted all sorts of exotic life. Most, if not all, would be non-sapient, but they could still do damage and ge wanted to make sure the area around them was safe before he relaxed even slightly. He didn't want to have to deal with this planet's version of a mudhorn or a krayt dragon after the equipment was out. Or worse — sapients holed up nearby.

The forest hosted plenty of birds, or birdlike things. Insects buzzed everywhere, and other crawlers occupied the stems and leaves of the vegetation. With his rifle scope, he could look further through the trees, but only picked up more of the same. It was impossible to hear every sound with his helmet since the forest was constantly humming with lifeforms, but he still listened carefully for alien footsteps, and for the breaking of twigs or rustling of foliage. It was only because of years of experience, and his helmet's expertly designed audio capabilities, that he was able to detect the variety of sounds that he did.

A few of the bushes grew something that looked like nuts, though picking one revealed that they were slightly squishy. He looked it over, then studied the bushes more closely. Some of the nuts had been partially devoured by pests. _Might be safe, then_, he thought.

Djarin pocketed a handful. If they turned out to be okay to eat, he would get more to take with them. His dietary options were always meager, but now that he had another, pickier mouth to feed, he had to try to keep a decent selection of food reserves. The child was still too young, mentally at least, to have a practical view of eating, and wanted what tasted good to him, not what was available, or what was designed in a lab to be convenient and nourishing at the expense of palatability. Sometimes he could be persuaded to tolerate the more bland rations on board, especially as he got hungrier, but it was ideal to keep him as well-fed as possible with as little struggle as possible.

There were other fruits in the area. Some were covered in bark-like rinds, but a few possessed only reddish or yellowish flesh; another potential break from the monotony of travel rations. _Definitely come back for some of those. Maybe even dry a bunch, store 'em in the hold. _

After a quarter-hour of patrol, he returned to the _Crest_ to set up the vaporators. That took almost an hour. Then he reentered the ship to check on the kid.

Of course, the child wasn't waiting considerately in its bed for his return. The bed was empty, save for the metal ball. He groaned almost inaudibly into his helmet. _Kid, you've gotta stop playing hide and seek_. He looked around the pilot's chair and the other seating in the cockpit. _Especially from an expert. _Albeit an expert who wasn't used to tracking targets under half a meter in height.

A small peep directed him back to the cargo hold. How the little runt had climbed down the ladder was something he'd have to figure out. Unless the child had jumped. Or fallen.

Teeth gritting, Djarin scrambled down the rungs and looked around the cramped space of the cargo hold.

The tip of an ear poked out from behind a munitions crate. Djarin expelled another sigh. "What're you doing back there?"

The little one stumbled out, giant almond eyes shiny and alert, ears rising in what seemed to be good humor. Djarin relaxed a fraction and scooped up the fugitive.

"Are all kids as annoying as you?" He didn't expect an answer, and he didn't get one, except for the ears going up then down again, as if trying to make out his words or tone.

Tucking it under his arm, Djarin went to the back of the cargo hold to dig out the handheld toxin detector. The device was only programmed for a human being, so he couldn't be sure of its reliability for the child. But so far everything Djarin ate the little one had eaten as well, not to mention a random frog on Arvala-7. Its body seemed hardy enough.

Djarin set the child on the deck after he found the device, and pulled one of the nuts out for analysis. The device took a while to break down the chemical components, but eventually the results came back with a safe rating.

"Well," he said, "want to try this?" He held up the nut.

The child was already waddling up to his foot to see what it was. Djarin crouched down and held it out to him. With a warble, the child reached out and took it, looking it over quizzically with its big eyes.

"You can eat this one," Djarin said with a nod.

After another moment's examination, the nut vanished into the little upturned mouth with a soft crunching noise. The wrinkled face relaxed pleasantly and the child gave a chirp.

"I'll take that as a good sign." More nuts were offered, and accepted.

Then it was time to deal with that smell problem.

"Okay," he said as he stood up, "hope you like water." The little guy looked froggy, so maybe that would work in his favor.

He emptied a munitions crate, wiped it down and took it to the water dispensary, which was almost empty; he filled the container halfway with lukewarm water. The youngling squawked inquisitively.

"Sorry," he muttered. Then, a little awkwardly, unsure of what he was doing, he peeled the the little robe off and picked it up. The rest of its body was like its bulbous head. Wrinkled. He was not a parent or a nurse, and it showed as he held the naked green thing out in front of him and walked it to the bath.

The child didn't flail until its claw-feet touched the water, and that was short-lived, stopping with a confused squawk as it was half-submerged. Then it relaxed, sitting with a sudden plop, and cupped at the water ponderingly. Djarin wondered if its skin could prune if it were submerged too long. It was a pointless thought.

With a fibrous old square of spongy cloth, he quickly wiped the child down, careful to get into the folds of its skin. Then he wiped the giant ears down just to be thorough. The child looked better almost immediately, a little brighter; even happier, and maybe relieved. It lifted up its stumpy arms or moved position to help him clean more easily. Clearly it had experience with the process; which was good because he didn't.

He left the child in the water, and took care of its single piece of clothing by throwing into the small heat-dry compartment he used for his own fatigues and other scant clothing items. It killed the germs and got rid of the grime and that was all that was necessary. Then he redressed the child, not bothering to dry it off completely. He just wanted the process to be over.

Perhaps it was the heat still in the material, but the child sat down against one of the bulkheads, distracted by its robe and basking in it.

With the child attended to, he went to a private part of the ship to address his own needs.

He still had to follow the Way; he wouldn't violate it by removing his helmet, even in front of a youngling who couldn't speak. The Mandalorians didn't unmask even in front of each other. Not his sect anyway. After the Purge, it was especially important to keep that part of the creed.

Besides, since he could never take it off in front of another living creature, and the child's mind was still so young (at least relatively) it might not even understand what a helmet was. It might just view the blank visor as his actual face. In this galaxy it wasn't so strange a possibility, either.

He washed quickly and put on a clean set of fatigues and boots. Then he ate, taking a few of the nuts for himself. They were a little dry but the texture and slightly sweet taste improved the rations that made up the majority of his meal.

After he was back in his helmet, though not the rest of his armor, he returned to check on the little one, who cooed happily at him.

Still amused by the random idea that his helmet might be his "face," he bent down and picked the child up. It clung to his arm immediately. He climbed the ladder one-handed back to the cockpit.

The kid trusted him. He wasn't sure if that made it a good judge of character or not. His intentions were noble, or noble enough, but he hardly was an appropriate guardian.

Yet the kid didn't seem to notice or care.

The bath and food had worked, at least. After a few minutes the child dozed on his arm with a sleepy gurgle. He carefully laid it down in its bed.

Everything was quiet. He sat in the pilot's chair and laid back. While the vaporators refilled their water reserves, all he had left to do was sleep. And he hadn't slept properly since this whole mess had started. It came on him like a heavy blanket. He closed his reddened eyes behind the visor, grateful to turn off for a while.

He was brought back, slightly dazed, by something on his leg, crawling over his knee. Instinct said danger. A quarter of a second later he registered the lightness of the thing, and the little claws digging into his leg.

"Not now," he muttered. "Just need need a few hours. That's all." He inclined his head just enough to look down at the child. It looked up at him and squeaked. Then climbed up his chest and, with a satisfied murmur, buried itself into the crook of his arm.

_Okay_.

It stopped moving. After a few seconds, it breathed steadily through its nose, rhythmically.

As long as he didn't move, and the child didn't wake up, this was doable. He relaxed back in his chair and heaved a big sigh. _Just go with it. As long as it lets you get some rest, who cares_.

He put a hand over the child to keep it in place, and fell back to sleep.

END


End file.
